Blue (4 page)

“I can't take that from you,” he objected, trying to refuse it, but she gave it to him, standing in her two thick sweaters in the falling snow. It was freezing, and she could only imagine how cold he was in the thin T-shirt and nothing else.

“I've got another one at home,” she reassured him, and he slowly slipped it on gratefully. It was thickly padded and insulated and he smiled as he looked at her.

“Thank you, for dinner and the coat.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked him, as though he had a heavy social schedule, and wasn't just trying to stay alive in the shed, and she wondered if he really did have a sleeping bag as he claimed. “Can I interest you in breakfast? Or drop something off for you?”

“I'll be around. I usually go out in the daytime, so they don't see me here.”

“I could come by in the morning, if you want,” she suggested, and he nodded, with a puzzled look.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you care?” he asked, looking suspicious again.

“Why not? See you tomorrow, Blue.” She smiled, and waved. She walked away and headed toward her apartment, as he disappeared into the shed, wearing her parka and carrying the extra meal she had given him. She had completely forgotten about wanting to jump into the river. And as she thought about it, it no longer made sense. She was smiling to herself as she walked along in the snow. It had been a strange encounter. She wondered if he'd be there when she came back the next day. She realized that he might not be, but whether he was or was not, he had given her far more than she had given him. She had given him a parka and dinner, and she knew with absolute certainty that were it not for Blue suddenly appearing out of nowhere, she would have been at the bottom of the river by now. And as she walked into her apartment, she realized with a shiver how close she had come to ending her life that night. It had seemed so easy for a minute, and such a simple thing to do, to just climb over the railing, let the waters close over her, and disappear. And instead she had been saved by a homeless boy called Blue with brilliant blue eyes. She thought of him as she fell asleep that night, and she slept peacefully for the first time in months. She had survived the anniversary thanks to him, and he had saved her life.

Ginny woke up early the next day, and saw that it had stopped snowing. There was a foot of snow on the ground, and the sky was still gray. She showered and dressed quickly, and was back at the shed at nine o'clock. She knocked on the door of the shed politely and a sleepy voice answered. It sounded as though she had woken him up. He poked his head out a moment later, wearing her parka and holding his sleeping bag.

“Did I wake you?” she asked apologetically, and he nodded with a grin. “Do you want to go to breakfast?” He smiled at the question and rolled up his sleeping bag, to take with him. He didn't want to leave it in case someone invaded the shed and took it away. And he had a small nylon gym bag with all his worldly possessions in it. He was ready in two minutes, and they walked back to McDonald's. He headed for the bathroom as soon as they got there, and when he came out, she could see that he had brushed his hair and washed his face.

They ordered breakfast and went back to the table where they'd had dinner the night before.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” she said as they dug into breakfast. She had coffee and a muffin, and he had two Egg McMuffins with bacon and fries. He had a healthy appetite like any growing boy.

“I don't like Christmas,” he said softly as he drank hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.

“Neither do I,” she admitted with a distant expression.

“Do you have kids?” He was curious about her.

“No,” she said simply. “I used to” would have been more information than he needed or she wanted to say. “Where are your mom and dad, Blue?” she asked him, as they finished eating and she sipped her coffee. She couldn't help wondering how he had wound up on the streets.

“They're dead,” he said quietly. “My mom died when I was five. My dad died a few years ago, but I hadn't seen him in a long time. He was a bad guy, my mom was a really good woman. She got sick.” He looked at Ginny carefully. “I lived with my aunt, but she's got kids and she doesn't have room for me. She's a nurse.” Then he looked at Ginny suspiciously again. “Are you a cop?” She shook her head in answer, and he believed her. “A social worker?”

“No. I'm a human rights worker. I fly to countries a long way from here, to take care of people in war zones or bad places where they need help. Africa, Afghanistan, Pakistan, places like that. I work in refugee camps, or where people have gotten hurt or are sick, or are being treated badly by their governments. I work with them for a while, and then I go someplace else.”

“Why do you do that?” He was intrigued by what she'd said. It sounded like a hard job to him.

“It seems like a good thing to do.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Sometimes. But I think it's worth it. I just got back two days ago. I was in Angola for four months. That's in southwest Africa.”

“Why'd you come back?” Her job sounded mysterious to him.

“Someone else took my place, so I came home. The foundation I work for moves us around every few months.”

“Do you like doing it?”

“Yes, most of the time. Sometimes I don't like it so much, but it's only for a few months at a time, and even if it's scary or uncomfortable, you get used to it.”

“Do they pay you a lot?”

She laughed at that. “No, very little. You have to do it because you love what you're doing. It's pretty rugged most of the time. And sometimes it's very scary. What about you? Do you go to school?”

He hesitated before he answered. “Not lately. I used to, when I lived with my aunt. I don't have time now. I do odd jobs when I can.” She nodded, wondering how he survived on the streets, with no family and no money. And if he was as young as she suspected, he had to avoid being reported to Child Protective Services if he didn't want to be taken to juvenile hall or put in the state system. It made her sad knowing he wasn't in school and was on the streets fending for himself.

They talked for a few more minutes and then walked out of the restaurant. He said he was going back to the shed later, after it got dark. It seemed like a depressing place to spend Christmas Eve, and as she looked at him, she made a decision.

“Do you want to come to my apartment for a while? You can spend the day there before you go back to the shed tonight. You can watch TV if you want. I have nothing to do today.” She was planning to volunteer to serve dinner at a homeless shelter that night. It seemed like a good way to spend it, serving others instead of feeling sorry for herself and waiting for the holiday to pass. Blue hesitated when she asked him, still not sure if he could trust her, or why she was being kind to him, but there was something about her that he liked, and if everything she said was true, she was a good person.

“Okay. Maybe I'll come for a while,” he agreed, and they walked down the street together.

“I live a block away,” she explained, and they were there a few moments later. He followed her into the hallway when she unlocked the door, and they went up in the elevator. She opened her apartment door with her key, and they walked in. Blue looked around as they did, and he took in the tired furniture and bare walls, and then grinned at her in surprise.

“I thought you'd live somewhere nicer than this.” She laughed at what he said. He was polite but truthful, with the honesty of youth.

“Yeah, I haven't done much decorating since I moved here. I'm away a lot,” she explained with a sheepish smile.

“My aunt has three kids in a one-bedroom apartment uptown.” By uptown she could guess that he meant Harlem. “And her place looks better than this.” They both laughed at what he said, Ginny even harder than he did. It was the ultimate damning statement when a homeless boy thought her apartment looked like a dump. And looking around, she couldn't disagree.

“Try the recliner, it's pretty comfortable.” She pointed to it and handed him the remote for the TV. She felt totally at ease having him there. There was nothing dangerous about him, and she felt the connection of a kindred soul. They were both homeless in their own ways. He walked around the room for a minute before he sat down, and noticed the photograph of Mark and Chris on her desk. He looked at it for a long moment and then glanced back at her.

“Who are they?” He could sense that they were important to her and there was a story behind the photo. He had surprised her with the question, and it took her breath away for a minute before she answered as calmly as she could.

“My husband and son. They died three years ago. The anniversary was yesterday.” She tried to keep her voice even as she said it.

Blue didn't answer for a beat and then nodded at her. “I'm sorry. That's really sad.” But it was no sadder than losing his parents and winding up homeless on the streets. She wasn't officially homeless, but Mark and Chris's deaths had changed her life forever, too, and left her adrift.

“Yes, it was. It was a car accident. That's why I travel so much now. I have no one to come home to.” She hated how pathetic it made her sound. “Anyway, I like what I do, so it works out.” She didn't tell him that they'd had a beautiful home in Los Angeles, with decent furniture, that she'd had a great career that she'd abandoned, and that she actually used to dress up every day in real clothes, not army surplus. It didn't matter anymore. All of that was over and history now. Now she lived in this tiny apartment with threadbare mismatched furniture she'd found abandoned on the sidewalk or at Goodwill, as though to punish herself for what had happened. It was her version of sackcloth and ashes. But he was too young to understand that, so she said nothing while he turned on the TV and channel-surfed for a while. She saw him glance at her laptop, too. Someone else might have worried that he'd steal it. The thought never crossed her mind. And after he'd watched TV for about an hour, he asked her if he could use her laptop, and she told him he could.

She saw him check several Web sites for homeless youth where they could pick up messages people left for them. He didn't write anything, but she had the impression he was looking for something as he scanned the screen.

“Do friends leave you messages on there?” she asked with interest. His was a world she knew nothing about. He seemed to know his way around the Web sites as well as the streets.

“My aunt does sometimes,” he said honestly. “She worries about me.”

“Do you ever call her?”

He shook his head. “She's got too much on her mind already. Her kids, her job. She works nights at a hospital, and she has to leave the kids alone. I used to baby-sit for them at night.” But from what he said, four people living in a one-bedroom apartment sounded difficult. But at least he kept in contact with her on the Internet, Ginny thought.

He went back to watching TV then, while Ginny checked her own e-mail and had none. A little while later her sister called her, and apologized profusely for not calling her the day before, on the anniversary. She had meant to but never got around to it.

“I'm so sorry. The kids drove me crazy all day, and Dad had a bad night the night before. I never got a moment to myself. He was agitated all day yesterday, he wanted to go out, and I didn't have time to take him. It makes him nervous being in the car with the kids. They play their music too loud, and they talk all the time. He does better when things are quieter and he can rest. He has trouble sleeping at night, though, and I worry that he'll go outside in the middle of the night. He gets worse after dark, more confused and angry sometimes. They call it sundowning. He's better in daytime hours.”

Listening to her sister made Ginny realize how little she knew about his illness, and how much Becky had to do to cope with it. It made her feel guilty hearing about it, but not enough that she wanted to share the burden of taking care of him. She felt overwhelmed just listening to her.

“What are you doing tonight?” Becky asked her. She hated knowing that Ginny was alone on Christmas Eve.

Ginny didn't tell her that she had picked up a homeless boy, fed him twice, and brought him to her apartment for the day. She had done it for him, but he was company for her, too. But she knew that Becky would be panicked if she told her. The idea of a homeless boy she didn't know in her apartment would have sent Becky into a tirade of warnings, worry, and fear. But Ginny felt confident, and was convinced he would do no harm. She had gotten much braver and more adventuresome in the past few years, after her many experiences in strange places abroad. It wasn't something Ginny would have done a few years earlier, either, but in the context of how she lived now, she was at ease, and he had been very polite, respectful, and well behaved.

She told Becky about her plan to serve meals at a homeless shelter that night, and a few minutes later, they hung up. Ginny and Blue both got hungry around three o'clock, and she asked him what he'd like to eat. His eyes lit up when she suggested Chinese food, and she ordered them a feast that was delivered in an hour. They sat down at her table in two of the ugly, unmatched chairs and devoured most of it, and then sat back, too full to move. Blue headed back to the recliner, watched some more TV, and fell asleep, while Ginny moved quietly around the apartment, putting things away from her trip. He woke up at six and saw that it was dark outside. He stood up with a grateful look at her. They had spent a nice day together, and she had enjoyed having him there. It added a warm feeling to the apartment, which usually seemed cold and impersonal to her. And it had been a godsend for him. He didn't have to hang around the bus terminal or Penn Station, looking for a warm place to sit and wait for the day to go by so he could go back to the shed for another night. That was his home now, as it had been for several weeks. He knew he'd have to give it up eventually when some city worker discovered him, but for now he was safe in the small shed where he spent his nights.

“I've got to go now,” he said and stood up. “Thanks for all the food and the nice day.” He looked as though he meant it and seemed sad to leave.

“Do you have a date?” she asked, teasing him with a wistful smile. She was sad to see him leave, too.

“No, but I should get back. I don't want anyone taking my shed,” he said as though fearing squatters in a palatial home. But he knew that safe, cozy spots like that, where he could be undisturbed and undiscovered, were hard to come by on the streets.

He put her parka on as she watched him, and it tore at her heart as he went to the bathroom and then came back and put his sleeping bag under one arm. “Will I see you again?” he asked her sadly. Most people were transitory in his life. This was the longest he had spent with anyone in months, since he'd been on the streets. People disappeared, went to shelters or other cities, or found shelter somewhere else. It was rare to meet up with someone again.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to a shelter for the night?” She had checked the Internet while he was sleeping, and had found that there were several for young people that offered bed space, free meals, and even job opportunities, and reunification with their families if they wanted, which she knew Blue didn't. At least he could have a real bed in a warm place, but he was adamant about not going to a shelter.

“I'm fine where I am. What are you doing tonight?” he asked her as though they were friends.

“I'm going to volunteer to serve dinner at a homeless shelter. I've done it before when I was in New York. I thought it would be a good way to spend Christmas Eve. Do you want to come with me?” He shook his head. “The food is pretty good.” He had eaten a lot of the Chinese food and said he wasn't hungry. “Breakfast tomorrow?” she offered, and he nodded and walked to the door. He thanked her again, and then he left.

She thought about him while she got dressed. She knew it would be hard work carrying heavy pots and ladling out hundreds of dinners. The shelter served thousands every night, and she welcomed the opportunity to exhaust herself so she wouldn't think about how things used to be.